


Starry Footprints

by Lizlow



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22105354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizlow/pseuds/Lizlow
Summary: Dreams filter into the footprints they have left behind, once pressed so fervently into the sand and dirt, all washed right away. It is in this way that they can continue to go forward. After all, what is backwards but a burden? What is time but a means to lead on to an end? There must be some control, someseizure, when it comes to facing the reality of this world.It’s tough, ever so. There will not always be a mount to carry them but, regardless, they must go onward, take the jobs they have to take, in order to proper, in order to know peace.
Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s)





	Starry Footprints

**Author's Note:**

> for @gumikneehigh on twitter !

Dreams filter into the footprints they have left behind, once pressed so fervently into the sand and dirt, all washed right away. It is in this way that they can continue to go forward. After all, what is backwards but a burden? What is time but a means to lead on to an end? There must be some control, some _seizure_ , when it comes to facing the reality of this world. 

It’s tough, ever so. There will not always be a mount to carry them but, regardless, they must go onward, take the jobs they have to take, in order to proper, in order to know peace. 

To that toast, they allow those shores to chase them, so that they may remain ankle deep in their well-wishes. The fruits of their labor today, and of any other day, are ripe to pick. _But_ , those can remain hung for another time. They will await them, never rotting away. When they come to bear them in their hands, perhaps, they can smile. It is Richter’s thoughts that thrive with these values, with this pursuit. There is no question to it; no, his hold is upon it and he will not release them. Of his own will, they have been woven. 

Accompanying him is Sayori, a woman he once hired as a healer, who is now under his tutelage for tech. Deep within her eyes is a constant sparkle of determination, he’s observed. It makes her... _fun_ to be around; he’d not yet want to part. The shine, that is fostered by her, refuses to go out even when they are both tethered to exhaustion, just like they are on this very evening. This is just what comes when they work so much. The chores that had to be done, and the calls that implored them from within, those could not - _cannot_ \- be ignored.

So disregard them they did not, and the sun finds itself setting, not on them alone, but on the entirety of the world around them. A reminder that it is not solely theirs, a reminder of what they are a part of. Small gears only contributing. If they were taken out, perhaps no one but the other would be the wiser. These ‘gears’ are _their_ own though, and they flourish in the brightness and movements that _they_ cast.

They are given handfuls, handfuls of loot and grains that were never promised but wholly earned. Energy has long since charged through this, but perhaps Sayori has always had that sort of channeling. It’s in her nature, to make the most of things, to reach out and believe that the next step might just be the one that shows them _everything_. 

Sometimes, she’ll run ahead of him, for some, _any_ reason that strikes her fancy. An unusual-looking branch? She’ll go examine it with full-fledged eagerness. In these flurries, her surroundings are _his_ to observe. She can handle a lot, without even realizing it, but habits stand and they wave themselves before him, always, _always_ , never letting go. 

It all leads to something so simple that it _must_ be tantalizing to any onlooker who doesn’t know: A little stumble, to which she tosses the blame to the air by her feet. Her hands clap together, and then she moves to cover her mouth just to laugh it all away. This is not an unusual occurrence for the duo, and Richter knows all too well that it never will be. If it’s before and if it’s now, then surely there will be a future just like this. 

But that’s something he wouldn’t mind... or so something screams at him. 

This time, does he reach to her trip? Inwardly, yes, just enough, but outwardly, he controls down to checking her following actions. Is she limping? No, just hopping, _skipping_ , as though _nothing_ had just happened. The heels and toes that belong to her continue to rise and fall, imprinting even more hopes. 

_Now_ , what is the new thing she’s locked on to? 

To that question, presented by no voice but his own, Richter traces her line of sight, all accompanied by the pointing and waving and the shout of “ _Richter!”_ she chooses to do and, _of course_ , there it shines, clear as day and granted sweet vibrancy by the magic of the land - the resting place where they might recover what they have spent. It couldn't have come at a more opportune time. Whether the hinges are shaking, whether words will learn how be given breath, that all depends. It depends on the future, and what sort of ribbon holds it just away from their grasp, holds it shut. It leans on how they rest as well. That is what crosses his mind when all the shrouds clear and the entrance, too, falls into sight. 

A place so colorful that something must be born. Whether it is from the spring in her step, the resolve in his core, or a combination of the two, well, that is left unsaid. 

He watches her march right on forward and follows suit. Some things are best done when not alone. 

This is one of them. There is no latent disappointment, not when she’s able to keep his pace and excel past it. He has to work to keep up, lest it becomes solely him to hold himself back. _Finally_ , a fondness, leveling, the plains, the trees, everything, it’s clearer. It’s valued. 

Past the nook and through the passageway they move, with Sayori still faster than him. The big reveal makes even their previous path feel small - it is natural and super. Their soon-to-be-beds are hammocks, arranged for the waiting.

“Oh, mine’s going to be _that_ one!” 

“Those will wait for us,” Richter says immediately following Sayori’s declaration. A given presentation to her to watch herself, without saying it in a way that might hit the world wrong. Enough to endear not offend. And it’s fine. She’s careful, her strides turning to much more casual ones as she takes in the atmosphere. Curious eyes sop up _everything_. They are sponges, enthralled by the colors, the warmth. It’s... beauty. 

It’s a glow that’s much more potent than anything else this place contains. 

Richter uses the time that Sayori’s slowed down to settle into his own appointment. It takes mere seconds to know that these hammocks are pretty comfortable, lifting up and away those beads of tiredness. 

Blink and she’s somewhere else. No longer is she toward the entrance, but there’s no missing the way she stretches in her chosen hammock as soon as she reaches. Swift and ready for her to be there, she fits right in. The location of this hammock is on the top, probably because it’s fun to be higher for once, just so she can cast her gaze _down_ upon him. A reverse from the usual, and she’s just as cheery with it as one would expect. He takes one look at her, and that smile of hers, the way her ears move with each gaining point of glee. It’s catching, fetching, almost as though all her tiredness from earlier disappeared, even if that’s not the case. Not at all.

This, he commits it to memory, _again_ , because the last time hasn’t left him quite yet, and closes his eyes. 

So the embrace of deeply hopeful and connected wraps around and around once more. If not for the location, the wind would likely be so willing as to to carry their voices right away. Instead, it allows a different sort of night air to cover them up, akin to blanket. Richter can grant himself the ability relax within its pockets, knowing that he’s still more than ready to move when she does. 

It’s enjoyable, this trust. He can speak no words to add to it, even the ones he possesses that he’s still keeping tucked away. That’s... acceptable, isn’t it? Not yet right to unlock but they’d never go stale. In this case, there isn’t a chance of it. It’s too genuine; it’s all real. 

“The sky’s still not close enough,” Sayori shatters the settled, silent peace with her own pace. Letting the quiet simmer and stay would have meant allowing the icicles of loneliness bloom. There’s a rustle. She’s... likely stuck out her hand. Maybe her gaze moved down just a bit. “If we had wings, we could reach out and actually touch it. What... What would we find?” She’d likely not wait for an answer, even if her eyes were wide open. Not until her thoughts have been satisfied, not when he senses more words to be had. “I-I mean, I like it here on the ground, because... because... you--” That’s just her. Always ready to chatter away. “Y-You... see!”

She keeps going, unaware of her surroundings. He convinced she’d be to fight back while holding a conversation, just like this, perfectly. In fact, he’s certain of it. 

No other way. _Stay_ , exactly this way. Keep talking, and let the soothe of her voice partner with efforts even if her stumbles transfer from her feet to her mouth. He doesn’t mind it, not at all. After being around her long enough, it felt... oddly strange, restless even, not to hear her speak out all on her mind. Outstandingly yet quite believably, everything relieving is knowing, knowing that she has room to talk like this, that they have shared so much, that they can walk, fight, _coexist_ together. 

Richter breathes out, softly, not allowing her any decent sighs of consciousness from him. He pictures a sky, one they can traverse by means of their very own feet. But their knees do not feel pain, and their hearing can capture every sound. It’s entrancing, seeing her shift from focused forwardness to exploritive wandering in an instant. Her fingers flutter through the clouds and shape them; she draws on the open canvas and builds a miniature galaxy with the fallen glitters granted from the stars. 

“In the sky, we could hold the stars. We could make a container and bring one back down with us...” 

It makes him want to reach out his hand as well but he restrains himself, for souls prosper better when they’re under illusions, and he can’t match illusions with his soul unless his dream are tangibly liquid. 

Another shift in weight. It’s doubtful that she truly notices, notices the fact that she’d holding a conversation with the flowers and the leaves and every voice except for him. She sounds like she’s enjoying herself though. It surmounts to her to not yet come to an end, despite the sleepy enthrallment still tangled deep within. 

“That’s just what _I_ think though! You’d think if - huh? Hey, Richter?” Her attention seems to have fallen back him, directly, but he makes no effort to speak, to wake, just yet. “Are you asleep? _Already_? Well... that _does_ make sense. You’ve... worked hard today.” There’s then a pressure on his head, quite a heavy one for the act, and a small rubbing motion, as though he’s being patted - _petted_. “...You always do...” 

What sort of look is she giving? Is she content, just as much as he is? 

“I’m... really... grate...ful...” 

When her voice suddenly slips away, he chooses to return to seeing this aura for what it really is. Just imagining - knowing - expressions that had been presented to soothing air had been plenty, but now, _now_ he wants to hold in his own eyes her calm. Her ease... It rubs off. 

Her hand is still there, isn’t it? Atop his head, despite the fact that she’s _yes_ , fallen asleep. A little longer, it’s a warmth that would - _will_ \- eternally linger, but selfishness will suffice over sacrifice momentarily, won’t it?

It’s not a surprise that, right up to the end, she spoke with all her might, waning out the last embers of the day’s fuels, and didn’t even realize it. It’s just like her, to provide such a company. He’s... _glad_ that he met her, the one who hasn’t let up, who doesn’t mock seriousness in malice. Everything valued, and so much more gained. 

He contemplates moving his hand to match her own, but decides against it. What if he wakes her with his stirring? What of her own well-deserved rest? _Ha,_ how troublesome, but he’d not take the blame for something preventable. _Ha_ , how endearing. It almost lifts the pressure away from that lump of words he guards, permitting him to speak such phrases hardly certain. But, he can’t. They are made of a dream that fills not his footprints, but his heart. They can’t be so carelessly spread, for they can only attempt to become reality if the receiver is ready for them. These sounds are one whose control he can’t relinquish to the sky, for it would devour it and hid it amongst the star bits they might never befriend. 

In that vein, he decides this moment has yet to be the winning one. Control, consider, he’ll let her indulge in her actions, as he does in return, and leave her patting hand be. Instead, he favors a simple speech, one of familiarity, of a bond with deeper meaning than even he thought he’d catch. 

“I, as well. Sleep well,” A smile is what they release with, from deep within, encapsulating every fiber - she wears something similar still. 

To that toast, he welcomes the tides of slumber, so that he may join Sayori in preparation of renewal for another day of labor, thrill, and prints to fill. 


End file.
